


Crazy

by monaboyd_archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M, Post-Filming Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-06-15
Updated: 2004-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-11 13:38:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4437569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monaboyd_archivist/pseuds/monaboyd_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Billy gets his head straight</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crazy

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Shirasade: this story was originally archived at the Monaboyd.net Archive, which was closed in September 2014 due to software issues and a lack of new submissions for several years . To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in October 2014. I e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact me using the e-mail address on the Monaboyd.net Archive collection profile.

You’ll think I’m crazy when I say this, but I used to think it was Dom that held it together best in the year after we wrapped principal photography on Rings. Even though the rest of us went on to make movies and he didn’t, he always seemed so cheerful whenever I saw him. Of course, I didn’t know then about the depression that took him that year, and why, you might ask? Because sometimes I think he’s the best of us, that he can act the best under pressure, and not just that, but really fool those who know him best. Or are supposed to know him best. Me, his best mate, and I had no idea he was down, because he never acted like he was sad, never acted like he was homesick for New Zealand – and while Glasgow will always be where I hang my hat and wipe my feet on the welcome mat, New Zealand is the home of my soul, and my spirit, and that’s due in no small part to Dom. And Elijah and Sean and Orli and everyone else. But especially my best mate; especially Dom.

But he was good, our Dom. Acted like he didn’t feel that impossible weight that came with moving on after Rings. Even though I had a part in another major picture right away, and he had endless auditions that turned up nothing but crap, he never showed that need to cling to the old days. Never showed that need to cling to me. Never showed that he needed me at all. And I believed it, and wondered what was wrong that I felt the need to call him at 4 am my time – a respectable 8 pm in Los Angeles – to talk about nothing at all when I couldn’t sleep. Wondered why I slept better when I heard his voice, and decided I needed help because I couldn’t let go of a project that had been my life for nearly two years. And there were the yearly pickups, and every time I’d expect that it would be the same as it was back during principal, me and Dom together every waking minute, and he never refused or pushed me away. He would laugh and joke and hug and tease, and for a few sparse moments here and there, it would feel like it once did. But he never called me in the middle of the night because he couldn’t sleep, or because he needed to tell me about a girl he’d met, or because he’d come up with a mad new project, and just had to tell me about it the way he used to do.

He never pushed me away, but he never pulled me close, either. And so I started to wonder.

And one day, when we’d finished doing the last of the commentaries, and I was walking out of the airport, on my way back to a home that felt distinctly unwelcoming after the magic that was New Zealand, back to a girlfriend who was as lovely a person as you could possibly meet, but didn’t have the face I was missing with all my heart, a scant 16 hours after seeing it last, then it hit me. I was in love with Dom. I was in love with Dom, and it was so perfectly clear and obvious that I was ashamed to have not managed to realize it before. No one _needs_ to hear their best friend’s voice at 3 a.m. No one stares out the window of a plane for an ungodly long time seeing their best friend’s face exactly as it looked when he cheerfully waved goodbye. No one aches for their best friend’s touch and feels cold and alone when their girlfriend holds them close and kisses them like they’re about to get lucky right there in the airport parking ramp.

I kissed my girlfriend’s forehead, then, and told her I needed to go somewhere and think, and she said, What, after 16 hours on a plane? But I think she knew. When I finally faced her and told her, she wasn’t happy, but she wasn’t surprised, either. She smiled stiffly and told me in a choked voice that she would miss me, but that you couldn’t really lose what you never had to begin with. And I smiled sadly and agreed, but wondered for days afterward how that could be true, because I felt such a gaping wound of loss every time I thought of Dom. And it hurt, then, more than before, when I thought of how he didn’t need me. Because I hadn’t truly realized until then just how much I did need him.

And you know, sexuality never really entered into it in my mind. Maybe because I’d been around other actors for too long, and when Ian said he went into theatre to meet gay men, he wasn’t kidding. And maybe because when I told Margaret that that’s what I wanted to do, she’d replied, well, so much for nieces and nephews. I’d tried to protest then, but she’d laughed and told me that she didn’t want me to fall in love with a woman, anyway – and not with a man, either. She wanted me to fall in love with a _person_ , any person, as long as that person was someone who loved me, too, and made me happy. I didn’t fully understand what she meant until that moment I realized I was in love with Dom. I hoped she wasn’t too disappointed with me for failing that expectation after all.

Not long after I arrived in my home-that-wasn’t-anymore, I got a call to fly to Los Angeles for a meeting about the Chucky movie I’d be filming the next year. My heart leaped, I’ll admit, because Los Angeles meant only one thing to me, and it was Dom. I called him, as soon as I thought I could speak to him without doing something stupid, such as bursting into hysterical, nervous laughter, or confessing my undying love. He sounded happy for me, of course, and couldn’t wait to see me, he said. He couldn’t pick me up at the airport because he was busy with his new TV series that day, but was sure we’d find time to spend together, he said. My heart sunk, as I remembered the days when he couldn’t wait to make plans for when we’d see each other again. We’d talked for hours each night during the long month we shot in separate locations for Return of the King, and planned in silly, painstaking detail what we’d do every moment when we were together again. Why couldn’t he be like that again, I wondered, aching for that closeness once more. He couldn’t talk for long – the TV show again, and I was happy about his success with it, really I was, even if I hated it just a little for taking him away. But then I thought back to what my girlfriend had said about losing what you never had, and realized it wasn’t the fault of his show for having what I couldn’t. But, just a little, in the darkest part of my heart, I hated it anyway.

It was Sean who picked me up when my plane landed at that zoo they call LAX, and he drove me to his house in the Hills. Chris and the girls were there, and it was so lovely to see them all, to be a part of the Astin clan again, that I actually forgot my woes for a little while. But when Chris disappeared upstairs to put the girls to bed for the night, Sean looked at me with that Papa Bear face of his and asked what was wrong. And I found myself telling him, although I hadn’t mean to, and along with the words, out spilled tears I’d held in over years without knowing it, and I laid it there in front of him, raw and bleeding and quietly desperate.

He held me for the longest time in that comforting embrace that never failed to make me think that he could make it all right. Never, except this time, because I knew he could only save the hero on a movie screen, and that scene had been cut from this reel. Nonetheless, he waited until I stopped shaking in his arms, until I could breathe without shuddering out a sob, until my tears had dried themselves and I almost seemed normal again. And then he stood up, and beckoned me to rise, and told me there was something I needed to see. And so I followed him into his study, where he kept everything Rings-related – I even managed a smile for the bronze-plated Feet – and he went to a bookcase along the interior wall, and pulled down a big photo album without even having to check the label on the creased spine. Dom and Billy, it said in worn letters. I wasn’t sure I could look, but he wouldn’t let me leave. Let me show you what I see, he told me, and flipped the well-used album open.

I recognized most of the pictures – Viggo’s work, mostly, and a few stills from Orli’s camcorder. I tried to tell him I’d seen them before, but he said Look, really look, and so I did. And I started to notice something about these particular pictures. Dom was smiling in nearly every one, but he wasn’t turning that beautiful, crooked grin at the camera. No, all of that vibrant energy, that glow that is supremely and distinctly Dom was focused on – me. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I flipped through the album slowly, page by page, but every picture showed the same thing, no matter what silly, crazy, or occasionally even serious event it memorialized. In every photo, Dom was looking at me, his eyes full of laughter more often than not, but also filled with what was suddenly unmistakable to me as love.

I can’t even tell you how my heart took wing that night. It was as if every conscious hope I’d had since the moment I realized I loved him had found a physical form. I stayed with Sean for three days while I went to all the necessary meetings. Dom didn’t call once. Maybe I should have gone to him then, but I needed time to think. The idea that my every wish might come true was scary, because if I let myself believe they might, I’d fly so high that I would never be able to survive a fall. In the evenings, Sean and I would sit in his study, me with the album in my lap, leafing reverently through it while we talked, or sometimes while we sat in companionable silence. At the end of the three days, I flew home, or rather, flew to Glasgow, even though it seemed like the other side of the world at that point.

It didn’t take me long to think things through. My house seemed impossibly empty, and every picture frame showed the smiling face I longed for. But still, the courage to come needed time to grow. When the call came to go back to L.A. to do promo events for the Extended Edition of Returnof the King, I felt scarcely ready. But I packed my belongings and got on the plane, as calmly as I could. Sean wasn’t waiting this time; I’d told him not to be. Instead, I hailed a cab and gave the driver Dom’s address.

Luckily, Dom was home when I arrived. He could well have been out, I realized after it was too late. He was surprised to see me on his doorstep, but invited me in, of course, although he seemed a little distant. He would have to leave soon, he apologized. A set meeting for his TV show. I wouldn’t stay long, I assured him, hoping as I said it that when I was finished, he wouldn’t want me to leave.

There was no reason to stall, so as soon as I set my bags down, I came out and said it, standing right there in his living room. I love you. Before he could answer, I rushed ahead. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. I love you as more than my best mate. I love you as a man who wants to be with you every minute of the day and every minute of the night. I want to be there when you go to sleep, and there when you wake up, and there when you smile and there when you want to throw things, and there when you break down and cry at cheesy movies. I want to hold you and keep you safe. I want to kiss away every worry, every doubt you’ve ever had. I want to stand next to you and hear you tell your parents and your friends that you love me, that you want to spend the rest of your life with me –

He walked out of the room. I felt my knees give, and saw the floor rush up to meet me with no sense that I could stop it. I curled myself protectively into a ball on the floor, and prayed he wouldn’t return until I had stopped crying. If only I could imagine a point when I could stop crying. Hot, raw sobs tore at my lungs as I wondered how I could have been so wrong, or if I had only been far too late. My shoulders shook as if palsied, and I felt as weak as Samson after his haircut. All my strength had been stolen away, but by lies I had told myself based on pictures that were either dated or misleading in sentiment. I couldn’t breathe for the strength of my sobs. I had a brief fantasy of asphyxiating, and Dom crying at my funeral, but it lent me little cheer. The tears continued to flow.

And then I felt a hand on my hair, hesitantly stroking. I curled tighter, not wanting to open my eyes to his pity. Billy, he called softly, and it was the familiar sound of tears in his voice that convinced me to look at him. His face was streaked, and his eyes were brilliant, red-rimmed steel blue. Where did you go, I asked, and his only reply was, I had to make sure. When I asked him what, he only answered by asking why I hadn’t been to see him when I was in town last, and I told him I’d realized I loved him, and only begun to hope he might love me, and I needed to think. I asked hesitantly whether he’d seen the album in Sean’s study, and he smiled sadly. Why do you think it was so worn, he asked. I spend so many nights there, just looking through it. But I had to give it to him, or I’d go crazy, and never stop looking. Give it to him? I asked. He smiled that sad smile again. Who do you think made it?

His hand slid from my hair to cup my cheek. What did you have to make sure of, I asked him, and he followed without needing me to elaborate. I had to make sure I wasn’t lying in bed, he explained. I’ve had this dream before. He swallowed. But you never cried in my dream.

I swiped the back of my hand across my face to wipe away the tears. Suddenly, I had to hear the words. Do you want it, too, then, I asked. Everything I said? I have to know if you want me there with you now and always.

Jesus, Billy, he answered in a voice that scared me. I closed my eyes tightly as I heard him laugh. His hand cupped my face once again, and he tipped it up. When I opened my eyes, he was grinning. What? I demanded, terrified that I had somehow misunderstood again. He shook his head, still grinning. Jesus, he said again. At least try to steal a kiss before you propose, alright?

I stared at him for a long moment, reassuring myself that _I_ wasn’t dreaming, and then I grabbed him, both hands cupping his face and dragging him to me for a kiss that felt like coming home. I might’ve let him go after that first embrace, but he held me to him when I would have drawn away, and kissed me deeply, again and again and again, until my mind had turned from homecoming to wondering whether it would be rushing things to drag him off in the general direction of the nearest bed, couch, or wall.

He pulled back just a hair, and asked if I would stay until the following week, and I promised that I would and asked why. He answered that his family would be coming to town for the holidays, and he’d like me to meet them. I pointed out that I had spent an awful lot of time with them over the years, including several holiday celebrations.

That was them meeting Billy, my best mate, he answered. And this will be them meeting Billy, the man I love.

And how could I say no to that? Crazy I may be, but not crazy enough to leave when he needs me at last. New Zealand will always be the home of our spirits, and here and there we find the home of our hats and welcome mats, but now at last I’ve found the home of my heart.


End file.
